When You Left
by djsrocks
Summary: England and America all brotherness... sort of like journal entries for both of them... two-shot. I love critic!
1. England

**When You Left**

I could stare at that picture all day. America wearing my pirate hat while I'm wear the rest of my costume; his little head way too small for the hat. Such a wonderful young boy. Then that bloody git decides he wants freedom. He just went and left! Caused a whole bloody fucking war! He is not the Hero. If anything he's the villain. An evil monster wanting to destroy every happy moment I have. America was my pride and joy. The only thing that kept me sane when I thought everyone was against me. A sweet little boy with a great big imagination, a wonderful vision of the world, and most importantly a love for me.

I guess it all started when I would leave him alone for long periods of time. Whenever I'd come back, I'd notice there was a difference in him. I never really paid much attention to him, until he refused to wear a suit. It was then I realized that I'd done something wrong in raising him. He wouldn't wear a suit? Complained about my cooking? Said he was getting too old for my irregular visits. I could see where he was coming from there; I could visibly see he was getting older. I loved his spirit, his spunk, his personality. It was perfect for me. All I needed, yet I lost him.

When he declared independence it was the worst thing I could have ever heard. Those words coming from his mouth was pure torture. I'd lost the only one I cared about. He was my brother. The only one who used to believe me with my friends, he even used to talk to them! He lost that imagination along the way though. He lost his innocence. He lost himself along the way. I guess some of that is my fault. And yeah, I feel bad. But what he did was worse. He broke me. Tore my heart into a million little pieces and left them scattered around.

Some Hero he is. Destroying me like that. How could he? I loved him, and still love him. I just want him to come to me, and cry into my chest again because of a nightmare. I want him to trust me with everything and be there with me through everything. I want my brother back. Is that too much to ask? Is it really such a big deal? Why can't I have him back?

I see America every day, with that smile of his and those continuous hamburgers. His blue eyes shimmering. Bloody hell do I miss him. He was such a good young brother. No matter what I could count on him being happy and energetic. Nothing ever brought him down, ever. It's why I admire him so much. He doesn't care what others think; he's himself.

No matter how much it kills me to say it, I think he's independence was good for him. Not for me, but for him. He's grown into a fine young man. I just wish he would still look up at me with those innocent eyes and ask me questions of my pirate past. I wish I could have my brother again.

-England

**A.N. America's part will be up soon. I hope this is good… It's 1:30(ish)am… I should really go to bed…**


	2. America

**When You Left**

I don't know how to put into words how much declaring my independence tore me. I can't describe how much agony I was in. I was torn. One half of me wanted to stay with England, and try to get him to listen to me; the other half, which obviously had a louder voice, wanted to break free from him.

That was the worst time for me. I didn't want to loose my big brother. I didn't want to loose the only man who had cared for me. But he changed. He stopped coming to hang out with me, tried to force me to only be with him in trading, he was hurting my people to much. It seemed as though he stopped caring about me and cared more about what I was giving him. He cared more about the fucking money and riches he could get, then he cared about me. And, if I dare say it, I hated him at that time. I hated how little I could actually depend on him, without getting thrown on my ass. I didn't want to come crawling back to him, only to be hurt again. I was done with my people suffering, and I was done with the emotional damage he was causing me.

Not many people know, and I doubt big br – England knows, about what I did during my revolution. I still have the scars on my wrist from the endless nights of sitting on my bed, bawling my fucking eyes out, and running the knife, or other sharp object, across my wrist in an attempt to forget about England, the war, and everything else.

France saved me during the war. He knows of the cutting. He also saw me as a country that could grow into something more if I was away from the emotional problems England was putting on me. Without France's help, I wouldn't have won the war. I wouldn't have gotten away from everything that was killing me.

I want to say I'm sorry to England, for breaking free from him, but I'm not sure if I can. I miss having my big brother around for me to run to in the night. I miss those special moments we had as brothers. I miss our old relationship. But there is one thing I don't miss. How he started acting towards me. If I was put back into that situation again, the same thing would have happened, no matter how much it hurt me to leave him. No matter how much I wanted him to stay by my side.

And I know he didn't really care about me. All he cared about at that time was keeping the money and riches I could pile onto him. He pretends to care about me. He doesn't care. That kills me. It hurts to know that someone who used to love me with everything in him, doesn't, or at least didn't, care about me in that moment. It hurts like hell. I promise you, it's nothing you want to go through.

The only war worse than the Revolutionary War, was the Civil war. And that was worse, only because I was fighting myself. Those were to two worst wars I have ever had to go through. Even the bombing that put me into WWII wasn't nearly as hurtful, emotional, or damaging to my mental health, as those two wars.

I just want my big brother back. Is that too much to ask for?

-America


End file.
